Bludgeon
January 1, 2017
It’s not like a hammer.
There’s a head to hit,
but it’s mine–
there’s no nail.
Just me, beating
my skull against a wall,
over and over again,
asking the same question,
repeating the heartbreak
every time
the flowers wither
or the snow melts.
Each impact
is somebody else
getting what I want,
each bruise just a reminder
that even if I was the wall
instead of the bludgeon
it still wouldn’t be my turn
to win.
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